The Ripping Good Time Affair
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: A decade ago, a madman killed a camp full of people and now he's back. Or is it just THRUSH using a legend as a cover? With any luck Napoleon and Illya can stay alive long enough to find out.


Chapter 1

The wooden buildings had stood empty for a long time, long enough for the white paint to flake off, for various birds and small rodents to take up residence and long enough for a thick coat of dust to accumulate upon every available surface. They had stood empty since the murderous spree of an escaped convict. Footsteps echoed hollowly as each one sent up a puff of dust and debris. A lone figure paused before a dull, rust-colored wall reaching out to touch the stain and shudder.

"Despite the terror and rumors that still surround the Camp of the Whispering Pine, because of the sadistic, torture-style killings that took place here, there remains a fascination with this place. There are the occasional parties-séances to help draw the spirit of Hyrum Ballswidths back to his last known spot on this plane of existence. There's an almost irresistible magnetism that draws one to it as a lamb to the slaughter." Giselle DuPar stopped her soliloquy, punching the 'off' button of her cassette recorded. She stared at the bleak, blood-stained walls and floor of the 'game room' as the newspaper dubbed it. Here, Ballswidths had slaughtered an entire family, slowly, systematically and with meticulous attention to detail. The detective, who had investigated the original murder, theorized that he had quickly killed the three children, slitting their throats and then delicately dissected them as their parents were forced to watch. They eventually followed their children in death, but not for several agonizing hours.

Giselle raked a handful of chestnut-colored hair from her face and sighed. It had been easy to pick this topic for her thesis back at the university where she studied criminology. To be suddenly face-to-face with the physical evidence of the murders was much more brutal and brought the heinous nature of the man's acts to life for her.

She cleared her throat and began again. "Fact, Hyrum Ballswidths was a top man in laser research, his success having come late in his career. On the eve of what he called a breakthrough of incredible importance, something went horribly wrong. His experiment backfired, literally, taking most of the man's face and hands with it, maiming and crippling him for life. Complicating the accident was the fact that Ballswidths seemed to suffer a mental collapse as well and became convinced that the explosion was a trap set by his wife's lover in an attempt to take him out of the picture. Although Ballswidths was convinced this man existed, even down to being able to provide a description to the police, the tall red-haired man was never proven even to exist, except perhaps in Ballswidths' fevered brain. In a fit of rage, Ballswidths killed his wife by binding her, slashing her own face and then letting her choke to death upon her own blood. After which he went on to perform the acts that have led him to be called the bloodiest killer in the history of North America. See footnote 12."

She stopped to check a piece of scratch paper she carried to make sure that was the proper cite and then continued on. "He was tried, found guilty and sentenced to death. He was sent to a maximum security prison just across the state line in Nevada. One night, during a power outage, he escaped to Idaho and took refuge here in one of the many buildings that make up the Camp of the Whispering Pines. The camp had been closed for the season and here he found the solitude he needed to continue his experiments. There are various spots around the camp that still bear witness to that time. Although his writing is nearly undecipherable, due to the injury to his hands, handwriting analysis experts insist that the notes left on various walls of the cabins are indeed Ballswidths'."

A loud chorus of shouts interrupted her and she quickly shut off the tape recorder. Vacationing with her aunt hadn't been her idea of a good time, but when she found out that the woman's church group was headed for the Camp of the Whispering Pines, it hadn't taken but seconds for her to agree to join them. She didn't care much for the preacher, he was a bit too loud and eyed the female members of his congregation a bit more than she liked, but how could she pass this up. Once the distant voices had dropped, she started again.

"We are still not certain of the facts, but for some reason, the local authorities allowed a group of people to come into the camp off season – it was just past September and the first snow wasn't far off. Long rambling diaries were discovered hidden in a large metal cracker box, of all things, in the woods behind the outer cabins, indicating that somehow Ballswidths became convinced that these people had informed the law of his presence. In a similar fit of rage that resulted in the death of his wife, he killed every person in the camp, 27 victims in all. The question remains, how did Ballswidths manage to kill so many people? Surely there were enough that they could have defeated the man. These were campers, they had axes, knives and guns with them and yet the reality remains that all 27 were slaughtered and law enforcement remains clueless to this day. There are theories, but they remain only theories. In most cases, the victims were never completely identified as they had had their hands and heads completely removed. No one escaped his rage that night and then Ballswidths simply vanished. No clue as to his existence has been discovered since that night. Local legends say that God was so enraged by these acts he struck Ballswidths down with a bolt of lightning and sent him directly to hell. The authorities are not as convinced, but subsequence investigations have revealed nothing."

Giselle stopped again, growing uneasy with the feeling that she wasn't quite alone. She studied the landscape through the open windows, listened to the wind rustle pleasantly through the trees and the distance voices rise and fall in prayer.

"Gosh, I'm letting this even get to me." She pushed her hair back from her face again and screamed as her leg was suddenly grabbed through a gap in the floor boards. Immediately the planks were shoved back and Giselle gulped down a large lump in her throat at the sight of her twin sister.

"Boo!" Monique DuPar crawled from her hiding place beneath the floor. "Gee Giselle, you sure are high strung. Afraid the boogey man is going to get you?"

"**What** are you doing?" her sister demanded. "I nearly died of fright!"

"I'm merely working on my own thesis, my dear. I have a degree to get too, you know." Monique hoisted herself out of the hole to sit upon the edge of it and dangle her legs. She brushed a bit of dirt form the knees of her jeans.

"But crawling around under the buildings? What about bugs and spiders and stuff like that. You might get bitten, have you thought about that?" Giselle shuddered at the thought. Even though they were twins, their idea of a good time, as well as a career path, could not be farther apart.

"Since my degree is in entomology, yes, with the bugs and creepy crawlies. You can have your killers and cutthroats."

"You haven't answered my question. What are you doing down there?'

"I found all these tunnels. If I'm not mistaken, I'm gonna say they had something to do with your boy being able to elude the law enforcement guys like he did. Come on and check them out. They honeycomb the place. Some of them haven't been used for years and kids have obviously gotten to some of the other – they're covered in graffiti."

"Teenagers up here? How would teenagers get up here?"

"Surely it hasn't been that long for you to know that teenagers can get everywhere, sister. As for the tunnels, I'm guessing some sort of mining company carved them out and then just left. Make sure you bring a flashlight though. It's pretty treacherous down there."

"Well, I don't know." Giselle was torn. No one had ever mentioned tunnels before. The thought that she might be exploring uncharted territory as it were was both exciting and a little scary. "We should probably check with Aunt Estelle first. You know how she feels about us wandering off."

"And get roped into another prayer meeting? No thanks! If they want to exorcise the spirit of Ballswidths' ghost, they can do it without me. Rev. Fletcher yells too much for my tastes and he gives me the creeps." Monique dropped back into the hole.

"Yeah, when he finishes sermon, everyone in Nevada yells amen. Let's go." Giselle grabbed her backpack, slung the recorder around her neck and dropped through the hole after her sister.

"Just a second." Monique climbed partially up the ladder to replace the floor boards she'd removed. "We don't want someone walking in here and breaking a leg. I'd never hear the end of it."

****

A three hour search of the various tunnels revealed nothing more exciting than cobwebs; lots of dust and an occasionally mysterious rustling noise as some animal scurried themselves from view. Giselle brushed cobwebs off the arms of sweatshirt and sighed. "I was sort of hoping for a little more than just run of the mill tunnels down here."

"What did you think we'd find, Ballswidths' lab?" Monique shone her light into yet another tunnel off the main shaft. "There have to be dozens of these things in here. God knows what you could hide down here."

"Where do you suppose we are now?"

"I'm guessing somewhere under the main building, if this map of mine is correct." Monique rustled the sheet as she tried to fold it. "I should forget about entomology and do my thesis on the folding and storing of maps. There's a topic that has yet to be dealt with in a reasonable and forthcoming manner."

"Oh, map folding, that's a career choice I want to pursue. Monique, let's call it quits and head back. I'm starving." Giselle let her flashlight dance against a dirt wall listlessly. "It's close to dinner time and you know Aunt Estelle will come unglued if she can't find us."

"Here." Monique offered her sister a trail bar from a pants pocket. "I can offer you anything you want, as long as you don't mind trail mix."

"All those empty calories? I don't think so. Let's go find out what's for dinner." Giselle led the way to the closest of the dozen ladders they had passed, only to pause. "Do you hear rain?" She flashed her light around at the drips coming through the floor boards of the cabin to puddle in the dirt.

"What is that?" Monique aimed her beam up the floor and suddenly felt faint. A steady stream of blood ran from between the floor boards to pool at their feet. "Oh my god…" she whispered.

Ashen-faced, the two became aware of the shuddering moans, the dying rattles of breath and the slick crackle that a knife makes going through flesh. And the blood continued to flow.

****

A figure, dressed in dark upon dark clothes, stole from the shadows surrounding the shipping warehouse. His passage was barely discernible in the dark. Carefully, he melted back into the shadows just as a guard rounded the corner. Napoleon Solo held his breath as the THUSH guard paused about a yard away and the agent's hand sought the butt of his P-38. After a few second, the guard moved on and Solo released a soft sigh. He wiped away a trickle of sweat that crawled down the side of his face and stared up at the building. No matter what they told you, dark clothing was not the thing to wear in Tahiti, even in the middle of the night

While the dark clothes kept him fairly invisible, the discomfort the clinging fabric caused was almost not worth the effort. A prickly feeling told him that he was going to have heat rash to go with the sun burn he'd picked up that afternoon while casing the warehouse.

Cautiously, he unwound a length of cable from around his waist and gauged the height of the window. It took three tries before the grappling hook on the end of the cable caught enough for him to trust his weight to it.

He slipped in, landing softly upon his feet, hidden by numerous shipping crates. As hot as it was outside, it was twice as hot in the building. The air was heavy and hung like fabric, motionless and stifling. Solo wiped the sweat away again and lifted an infra-red camera to sweep the area, taking a shot every few seconds. That task completed, he withdrew a brick of plastic explosive from the pocket of his black BDU's and looked around for a likely target.

"What do you think, Illya, maybe the crate…?" Then he caught himself. His partner was thousands of miles away, in the Arctic dealing with his own mission. _It doesn't mean I can't miss him_, the man decided. This was not the first time he'd turned to say something to his partner, only to catch himself at the last minute. Perhaps Waverly had ulterior motives for separating the two even if it was merely a temporary thing. They were becoming far too dependent upon each other.

Slapping the putty onto a barrel marked 'flammable' he inserted the detonator, gave himself a reasonable amount of fuse and had it promptly shot from his fingers.

The overhead lights flared on and distant voices shouted a warning to him. _Freeze?_ _Like you could freeze in this temperature,_ Solo thought as he dove behind a crate, unleashing several shots as he did so. He was rewarded with a cry and a falling body that landed not a foot from him.

Carefully, he reached out to drag the body behind the shelter of his crate. Standard THRUSH, he decided. One hand returned fire while the other patted down the man, searching for clues to THRUSH's purpose here.

It was in the left trouser cuff that Solo found something out of place. It was a long strip of whitish-green, loosely woven fabric. It looked innocent enough, but the fact that it was so meticulously concealed argued the point.

Solo shook his head and tucked the material away in his own clothes. That accomplished he removed a grenade from the man's belt and let it fly in the general direction from which he reasoned the THRUSH reinforcements would be coming. He then took to the rafters, using the smoke and the ensuing confusion to hide his escape.

He paused before the window and screwed the telescopic sight onto his gun and then aimed very carefully. He fired once, the bullet hitting a scant fragment of an inch from the fuse. A second bullet hit the fuse dead on and ignited. Napoleon had just seconds to drop from the building and take refuge. As the building exploded, bits and pieces of material rained down around him and he held his arms over his head to protect himself from the worst of it.

****

An icy wind, laughing at the chills it caused down his spine, cut through the heavily insulated parka that Illya Kuryakin wore. In spite of the cold, Kuryakin pushed closer to the snow-packed ground, rubbed away the tears in his eyes and brought his binoculars back up. He'd had the silly thought that he'd been cold before, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of life at the Arctic Circle. Why UNCLE would have an outpost here was completely beyond him.

He glanced to where a fellow agent, also dressed in camouflage whites, huddled at his elbow, then pointed to a distant spot, semi-sheltered from the blowing snow.

Far off, men off-loaded their cargo from a helicopter to waiting dog sleds. However, even the blowing snow couldn't hide the chopper's emblem, that of a embossed black bird, from view. Kuryakin brought a walkie talkie up to his mouth, pulling away a protective muffler to speak into the instrument. "Adger, Castrence, are your groups in position?" He held the instrument as close to his ear as he could to hear the faint response. "All right, Castrence, you take the helicopter. Adger, you take the sleds. My group will follow you in as back-up and please remember, gentlemen, we do take prisoners. Kill only if you have to. Let's do it."

Beneath the cover of the wind and snow, the UNCLE agents began to crawl towards the helicopter, stopping fifty feet away. From within a pocket, Illya withdrew a small transmitter. Mentally crossing his fingers, he punched the button and a circle of pre-planted explosives created a veil of snow and ice. Behind the cover, Illya charged, aiming a modified UNCLE special before him. A building whine informed him of the helicopter's attempt at take off and he waited for the explosion. However, none came as the noise grew and the craft lifted off. Kuryakin swore, trying to locate the craft in the sky. If he could get one clear shot… He broke cover and stood to aim.

A nearby 'pop' accompanied a burning sensation across his shoulder blade and Kuryakin fell to one side, firing as he did. The THRUSH gunman crumbled and Illya looked around. A white-suited man waved to him and Illya rose, warily. The figure stumbled up to him. "Adger, what the hell happened? Castrence was supposed to take out the chopper." Illya sank back down into the cover the snow provided.

"He was the first one dead. Caught it right between the eyes," Adger said, kneeling to inspect the rent in Kuryakin's parka. "So are Young, Benson and Hallans. THRUSH must have known we were coming. The sleds were loaded with nothing except skins and this," he kicked at the dead man, "was their only fatality."

Illya climbed back to his feet, pain and weariness forced his shoulder into a droop. "Mr. Waverly is going to love this. Let's get a clean-up crew out here and go home."

****

Napoleon Solo stuck his head into his partner's office to the sound of Illya Kuryakin's cough. The bronchial nature of it made Solo wince, the movement reminding him of his sunburned nose. He rubbed it gently and slipped into the room.

"You...ah…must be getting well. Your cough sounds better." Solo reasoned no one wanted to be told how terrible they sounded.

"It should, I was up most of the night practicing." Kuryakin glanced up from behind his handkerchief. Confident that the coughing spell had ended, he dropped the cloth to his desk top and returned to the report.

"And your humor is back to its usual dry self." Solo grimaced at his partner's comment.

"I hope your sunburn peels," Illya grumbled back, feeling too lousy to attempt anything more. "Are you just here to lampoon my health or did you want something?" He broke off into a coughing jag that left him breathless and teary eyed.

Solo studied the Russian carefully before speaking. "Mr. Waverly wants to see us," he said, as he reached out and placed a hand upon a hot forehead. "You're running a fever. That means you're contagious. You should be in Medical or at least at home."

"Please, Napoleon, not that." Kuryakin gestured to the stacks of paper that had accumulated during his absence. "I feel better when I work. It keeps my mind off things."

"I dunno. You still look pretty bad."

Illya decided to change tactics. "So, how's your rash?" Napoleon's open-mouth gape told him that he'd hit a nerve and the Russian smiled.

"Should I even ask how you know about that?"

"Remember when you sent me to Medical the first time?"

"Yeah, I thought you had pneumonia. I still do."

"It's amazing what the nurses talk about when waiting for a thermometer reading." Illya paused to blow his nose. "I wonder what Waverly would say if he knew about your affliction. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to send you off for a little down time."

Napoleon smirked, knowing full well that his partner had maneuvered him into a corner. "Well…alright, I won't send you home, but no sneezing on Mr. Waverly. The last thing we need is for him to get sick."

Alexander Waverly glanced up from his own piles of reports as the two enforcement agents entered.

"Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin, how are you both feeling?" He nodded to seats at the circular table as he began to fill his pipe. Illya inwardly groaned at the thought of having to deal with pipe smoke and picked a chair as far away from Waverly as possible.

"I'm fine, but I think Illya is on his last legs from the sound of it," Solo replied off-handedly as he sank carefully into one of the chairs. His sunburn was just to the point of where the pain was tolerable, as long as he didn't irritate it. The rash was likewise behaving itself as long as he sat carefully and didn't wiggle too much.

"I'm all right, sir, thank you," Illya answered quickly. His eyes kept tearing up with the effort to keep from coughing.

"Good. I have an assignment for the pair of you," Waverly set a file down and spun the table top. It stopped in front of Solo. "Does the name Hyrum Ballswidths mean anything to you?"

"Wasn't he the scientist who was trying to develop a working laser from a light bulb? " Solo asked as he retrieved the folder and opened it. "I thought he disappeared years ago."

"You're very close, Napoleon." Illya paused to stifle a sneeze and blow his nose again. "He was working on a device that would permit a laser to use a 60 watt light bulb as its power source. He was seriously injured when his invention went up in his face, literally. It turned him into a homicidal maniac, for lack of a better term. He killed his wife and was sentenced to death, but later affected an escape and went on a murdering spree that left several dozen bodies in his wake. Most of the victims were at a camp ground, somewhere in Idaho I believe. He then disappeared without a trace. The popular rumor is that he is still roaming the area, looking for his wife's lover, the man supposedly responsible for the accident." Illya stopped at Solo's stare. "Don't look so surprised, Napoleon. There was an article about the laser in the last issue of _"Scientific Frontiers"_. A group of scientists has started looking into the practicality of Ballswidths' invention."

"Exactly, Mr. Kuryakin." The old man's nod was as close to a pat on the back as any agent ever got from him.

"But why the sudden interest in Ballswidths, sir? According to this file, he reportedly vanished ten years ago."

"The key word is 'reportedly', Mr. Solo." Waverly returned to his pipe. "The man's body was never recovered."

"Are you suggesting that he's still alive and haunting the woods of rural Idaho, sir?" Napoleon's voice held an edge of humor to it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Solo. That is a bedtime story to keep young children in line. However, we have recently been receiving reports that THRUSH has begun to continue his research upon the device and we do have this sample that you retrieved from that warehouse in Tahiti."

"That white plastic stuff I found in the pants cuff? I checked with the shipping magistrate in Papeete and the entire warehouse was headed for San Francisco." Solo passed the file to Illya, who donned his glasses to read it.

"That white plastic stuff, as you refer to it, Mr. Solo is processed thallium."

"Plastic?" Illya head bobbed up from his reading. "I thought it only came in a crystalline form…huh." He broke off, his brow furrowed with concentration. He took a breath to say something, and then started coughing. Solo took pity on his partner, rose and retrieved a glass of water from the bar area of Waverly's office. Kuryakin accepted the glass gratefully and drank it down.

"Better?" Solo asked as he reseated himself.

"Yes, thank you." The Russian voice was strained. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What I was going to say was that I remember reading that thallium is a key ingredient used in lasers. It amplifies the electrical charge, resulting in a finer, more concentrated beam."

"And I'm not even going to ask why that would be of interest to THRUSH or why they have, or rather, had a warehouse of it on hand." Solo shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "I'm curious as to how Illya and I are fitting into all of this, sir. Do we go to San Francisco and try to pick up the lead from there?"

"That is your destination, Mr. Solo. I want you to see if you can find anything there. Mr. Kuryakin has a different assignment." Waverly started to touch a match to the tobacco in his pipe and then paused. "You are to proceed directly to Coeur d'Alene."

"Coeur d'Alene, sir?" Illya interrupted, pausing to sneeze in to her handkerchief. "Perhaps it's the cold medication I'm taking, but I am unable to make this bridge."

"The THRUSH that you brought down in the Arctic, Mr. Kuryakin, had several receipts from the Coeur d'Arlene region. He also was carrying an article about the Camp of the Whispering Pines. It was that campthat saw Mr. Ballswidths' most horrific massacre. Mr. Ballswidths was working on an invention that took thallium and used it to amplify…"

"Lasers. Now I understand," Illya said.

"You will pose as a journalist doing a feature on the camp for some upcoming magazine article."

"I've heard that story before," Illya murmured, returning to the file.

"If what we believe is true, THRUSH is using the camp and its macabre past as a front, as it was rumored that Ballswidths had taken up residence there and had begun to rebuild his invention. Lately, there have been rumors of a disfigured man roaming the grounds, terrifying people."

"THRUSH is using the camp as a front; they've done it before." Solo rose, restless now that he had an assignment. "And it wouldn't be beyond them to use a cover story like that to keep folks and their prying eyes at bay."

"Quite right, Mr. Solo. Your travel documents will be delivered to your office later. And Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Sir?"

"Go to the Medical and see if there's anything they can give you for that nasty cough. Then go home and get some rest." The man knew better than to protest. Napoleon simply smiled at him and gestured to the door." "And Mr. Solo, go with him. I need you both in top shape for this." Solo's smile fell as Illya's grew.

"It'll be okay, Napoleon. I'll even let them take your temperature first."

Chapter 2

Napoleon Solo stared out his hotel room window as the traffic hurried by. This close to Union Square, the cars, buses and trucks never seemed to stop. On the side walk below, people scurried by and he was struck by just how many people were wearing black. Even though it was summer in the City by the Bay, folks still seem to favor the color. Of course, he was just a block from the theater district, but even with the possibility that some of these folks were theater techs, there was still a whole lot of black floating around.

With that thought spurring him on, he dug out his communicator. "Open Channel F please. Illya, are you there?"

A moment later, the familiar voice of his partner answered," Yes, Napoleon, what do you want?"

"Why are you whispering?"

"I'm in a library."

"Sorry? Just wanted to let you know that I'm here and settled in. I'll head over to the warehouse a bit later tonight."

"Wonderful. Where are you staying?"

"Place called The Maxwell. Why?"

"Two blocks over and one down on Bush, there's a great little restaurant called Jeanne d'Arc. You might want to check it out. And up the street is a halfway decent Jewish deli, David's."

"That's what I like about you, partner of mine, you always know the way to a man's heart. I'll check in with you just before leaving the hotel. Solo out."

Illya Kuryakin glared at the pen-like communicator for a moment, still trying to decide the reason for the call. He finally chalked it up to boredom on his partner's part and let it go as such. He tucked the pen back into his polo shirt pocket and returned his attention to the newspapers. The paper was yellowed and brittle, but still very readable. The sheer volume of material available on Ballswidths was daunting and the librarian had been extremely helpful after he'd flirted with her for a few moments. Between that and the promise of a mention in the resulting article, she had not only been able to direct him to the proper location in the library, but also had provided several restricted texts. It always surprised him how well his partner's lines worked, despite how cheesy they sounded to him.

He held a handkerchief over his mouth to keep his cough as quiet as possible, not so much that it was a distraction but mostly to keep from anyone noticing him. It never paid to draw attention to oneself in this business.

He glanced up as the librarian approached with another stack of papers. "I think this is the last of it."

Illya took a moment to try to find a clear spot on the table for the pile and finally surrendered a chair to it. "There is quite a bit of information here. It is amazing to me that no one was able to find Ballswidths with all this notoriety.

"I agree, it seemed like everyone was looking for him at the time, but the man simply disappeared from the face of the planet."

"A person of his visage would be even more greatly disadvantaged. It wasn't as if he could simply don a wig or false mustache and slip away." Illya started at a grainy photo of the man, amazed that anyone could suffer that level of disfigurement and live, much less elude a multistate search. "I suppose it speaks to the man's determination."

"Well, he did have supporters in his camp. Perhaps they helped to conceal him, at least at first." She rested her hand upon a task of books. "I just don't know what you're going to find here that will be newsworthy. I mean, it seems like every aspect of the man's life has been put under a microscope and studied long before you got here."

Illya shrugged his shoulders and reached for the nearest newspaper. "Mine is not to reason why. My editor speaks and I listen, providing I want my paycheck." The head librarian, scowling and looking stern, caught his eye and he smiled. "I think perhaps I have monopolized your time enough this afternoon. Your supervisor looks anxious."

"She always looks like that. You need anything else, just whistle." She took a step away and smiled shyly. "You do know how to whistle?"

"I assure you that when the time or opportunity presents itself, absolutely."

****

'_The coldest winter I ever suffered through was summer in San Francisco,' - yeah, that Mark Twain, he was a funny guy_, Napoleon decided as he pulled his nylon jacket closer around his neck. Only in UNCLE could you go from blistering hot to positive freezing in just a few short days. He adjusted his binoculars and studied the warehouse again. Like many of the other warehouses facing San Francisco Bay, it stood dark and motionless in the night. A few pedestrians wandered by, some locals, some tourists, but all disinterested in the long squat buildings. It looked to his considerably trained eye as if their bird had flown the nest.

"Open Channel D, please."

"Yes, Mr. Solo." Napoleon did some quick calculations and figured it had to be just about four in the morning in New York. He would one day, have to ask the old man's secret of never needing sleep.

"Mr. Waverly, I have been in observation of the warehouse that the delivery was headed to. It appears that THRUSH or whoever has pulled out. "

"Very well, Mr. Solo, proceed to Coeur d'Arlene and join Mr. Kuryakin there. I would suggest that this might be the time to check out the Camp of the Whispering Pines first hand."

"Understood. Solo out." Napoleon half considered calling his partner to apprise him of his change of plans, but nixed it at the last minute. Idaho was an hour ahead, which meant the Russian be would either be asleep or 'busy' and Solo had no intention of interrupting either situation.

****

Napoleon Solo, his normally neat brown hair plastered against his head from exertion, vainly tried to keep up the pace his partner was setting. The backpack rubbed against his still-sensitive skin and the altitude had no pity on his lungs. He couldn't believe that Illya wasn't experiencing more breathing problems, but the man seemed to be determined to keep the pace up, pausing only occasionally to give vent to a racking cough.

"Explain to me again why we couldn't have just driven in?" It certainly wasn't Solo's idea to hike that last five miles into the campsite and the jeans he was wearing rubbed uncomfortably in spots. He used the tail of his denim shirt to wipe off his face.

"The element of surprise, Napoleon, this way we have it. If we just turned up in a car, we might as well just surrender to THRUSH at the same time. This might gain us as much as a day's worth of investigating before we draw their attention."

"Providing they are still at the camp site."

"Of course."

"Illya, I need to stop."

"Again, Napoleon? We are never going to make the camp if you insist upon resting every five minutes." The note of exasperation was clear in Kuryakin's voice, but a coughing spell suddenly caught him and the man bent over in an effort to control it.

Solo pulled his pack off and rested it upon a stump. He eased the material of his tee shirt away from his back and smiled at the brief relief it afforded. All the while, he watched Kuryakin for any untoward signs. He still wasn't sure the man didn't have walking pneumonia. "What are you afraid of? You're a big brave UNCLE agent. Surely you're not afraid of Ballswidths coming after you. Besides, this isn't to rest." He started to walk a short distance and Illya's head bobbed with understanding. All the water they were drinking had already caused him to make a similar stop.

Illya caught his breath and wiped his eyes across the sleeve of his shirt. "There's a reason far more basic than that, Napoleon, to my pace. It isn't good sense to go hiking around in strange woods after dark. Branches, holes, stumps - none of them are tremendously impressed with our little gold card and I'd like to avoid a twisted ankle for either of us." Wihtout removing it, Illya rested his pack on a fallen tree to relieve some of the pressure on his aching upper back. His own wound was just healed over and still pretty sensitive, not that he'd let on.

Solo disregarded the note of annoyance in the man's voice as he took care of business. They had been partners far too long for Solo not to recognize a symptom of tiredness. He was in fairly good shape and was exhausted. He could only imagine what it must be like to try to with a chest cold. He started to zip his fly shut and his eye caught something. He finished zipping up and turned. "Illya, look at this." Solo squatted to brush the debris away and exposed a fire poker. "This certainly is out of place and a long way from home."

"Interesting," Illya observed, squatting down carefully to avoid over balancing his pack. "And recent."

"You're right, no rust. How peculiar in an area with this much rainfall. Someone either put it here recently for the sole purpose of frightening someone away…"

"Or is planning on using it at a later date. One report I read said that Ballswidths liked to shatter the kneecaps of his victims to keep them from escaping before he was finished with them. Napoleon, why do I suddenly have a bad feeling?" He picked up the poker and tossed it into the tangled undergrowth. "At least that will make it more of a challenge for them to find it."

"You're thinking too much again, Illya." Solo retrieved his pack from the stump.

"It's an unfortunate habit of mine, sorry. I'm trying to stop." Illya readjusted a strap and hiked on, not waiting to see if Solo followed.

They had just crested a hill overlooking the camp when Solo held up a hand. A soft breeze was blowing in his face and carried something on it. "What is that smell, Illya? I can almost place it, and then it eludes me."

"Don't look at me. I haven't been able to smell anything for a week." Still he drew in a deep breath as he could, then shook his head, coughed, and tried again. "Sorry."

Solo smiled affectionately at the slender man and regarded the sun on its multicolor descent into sunset. "Looks like we have a few more hours before we lose everything to the dark. Want to set up camp in one of the out buildings first or do a fast search?"

He trailed after the Russian as he carefully threaded his way down the overgrown path to the camp's front gate. It swung idle in the breeze and a sign lay forgotten in the tangled brush beneath it. Illya picked it up, using the sleeve of his denim shirt to brush it off.

"Hmm, camp closed until further notice…_lasciate ogni serenza voi chentrate_. Translates roughly to 'abandon all hope, ye who enter. Funny."

"Sounds like an invitation to me," Solo flicked his eyes back and forth from his partner to the surrounding area. Long grass, poking through broken asphalt, now grew in place of what had once been a basket ball court, and a torn badminton net clung to a bent pole. Buildings once whitewashed and fresh-looking bore the scars of neglect and the elements. Aside from the low rush of the wind through the pine trees, there was only silence. Not even the twitter of birds broke the hush.

"Sure is quiet here," Illya murmured, as if suddenly concerned that his voice was be offensive to the silence. "According to the legend, not a bird has been heard here since Ballswidths' little party."

"Thank you for sharing that fact."

"Just another of the many services I offer. Shall we?"

"Why not? I gave up hope, along with virtue and dreams of an old age, a long time ago. Now I'm just hoping for a good fantasy."

Kuryakin drew into himself for a moment, getting a feel for the place. "Let's go find a place to stash this stuff and begin a search. We can set up camp by lantern light if necessary. I'd wager a months' salary that our answer is in one of the outer cabins." He started around a large building, obviously the main dining hall for the camp and slammed to a halt.

Solo too stopped as he shared Illya's view of the three very modern Jeep Wagoneers sitting there.

"Okay, that's a little out of context here. Looks like we've got company, my friend. I'm guessing it's probably not THRUSH."

"Not unless they gotten really sure of themselves. Still you'd expect to hear something if anyone was in camp." Solo craned his neck to survey the nearby cabins. "I'm not seeing anyone though

"Might be on a hike or something."

"Let's go find out – safety in numbers and all that. Besides, we won't stand out so much if we have a group of people to mingle with."

"Agreed." Illya shrugged out of his pack, dumping it unceremoniously upon the ground by an empty flagpole. "I'll take the left side."

"Scream if you find anything." Solo grinned at the answering eye roll and he reached in to check his gun before striking out on his own.

Solo poked through a dust-covered cabin by the light of the last rays of the setting sun. If he was going to do any more searching, he would need to go back for a flashlight. Dusk was already starting to hide corners from him. There certainly hadn't been any one in any of the cabins he'd checked. They were all pretty much just like this one, empty, dust coated and long since abandoned, except for various animals that had taken up residence. He could hear their soft scurrying as he entered, but he never saw anything else living besides his dirt-streaked reflection in the broken glass of the windows.

He started back towards the main dining hall and stopped, wrinkling his nose at the stink. It smelled like a side of beef had been left in the sun to rot. He knew what the stink reminded him of - having stumbled over his share of decomposing bodies over the years, but that didn't make sense. The place had been empty for ten years, so that wasn't likely. Napoleon looked around and had taken a step out the door when his partner suddenly stumbled from a cabin. Any words of reprimand died upon Solo's lips at the look of horror on the man's ashen face

"Illya, what on earth…?"

"In there." Gasping for a breath of fresh air, the Russian gestured behind him. Solo clamped him on the shoulder and hesitantly entered the small building. Like the others, it was broken into two sections, a small kitchenette and living area in front and the rear sleeping area. The front part of the cabin was littered with signs of civilizations: back packs, boots, sleeping bags, bags of groceries, bottles of water, all arranged in haphazard piles as if just dropped and forgotten.

The stench of rotting meat and the buzzing of flies rose to greet him as he stepped down the short hall to the sleeping area. Holding his breath against the stench, he cautiously looked into the room. All his years as an UNCLE agent hadn't truly prepared him for the sight of such slaughter.

No wonder Illya had such a look upon his face, Solo thought. He'd been warned and it was all he could do to keep his lunch down. He quickly backed away from the carnage, swallowing at the bile in his throat.

Rushing into the cool mountain air, Solo leaned against the door frame for momentarily support, trying to suppress the waves of nausea. He could tell Illya had already lost his battle from the sound of nearby retching. Fighting his own roiling stomach, he stumbled back into the cabin to grab a nearby bottle of water and then launched himself back out into the fresh air.

He spotted a familiar shape, kneeling on the ground, head down, shoulders heaving. He collapsed beside him and offered him the water bottle.

"There are two things in the world I hate to do and they both begin with 'v'." Illya sipped at the tepid water gratefully, rinsing his mouth and spitting the water out. He wiped his mouth off on his tee shirt sleeve, took another deep breath and cleared his throat.

"I can guess at one…the other?"

"Vouchers."

Napoleon reached out to rest a hand on the man's arm and frowned. ""Either you're really sunburned or you're still running a fever."

"A little of both."

"How did you get out of Medical with a fever?" He touched his partners forehead just for a second before Illya jerk out of his reach.

"Don't start, Napoleon. I'm not in the mood at present." Illya finger combed his hair down over the flecks of sweat that dotted his brow.

"No, I'm serious, how did you get out of Medical with a fever? I've been trying for years to get away with it."

"Keep the thermometer on the top of your tongue as long as you can."

Judging that enough time had passed for the Russian to regain control of his stomach, Solo asked, "You want to tell me what happened?"

"I was searching the buildings, as we agreed, heard the buzzing noise and followed it. I was on top of them before I realized it. Even during the Siege of Lenningrad, I never saw anything like that and I saw some pretty horrible stuff." He stopped and took another swallow of water, coughing slightly. "Even that is too much for THRUSH. Even they wouldn't slaughter an entire camp." He glanced over at his partner, his blue eyes wide with the possibility. "Would they?"

"Not likely, but then who?" Solo stood and reached down to his partner. "Any chance that it was just staged to look worse than it was?"

"No, it was pretty much as bad as it looked. I had a dubious advantage over you, Napoleon. I saw the bodies in more light and for longer. Sort of an interesting aside, from what I could tell, the heads and hands were missing. It was reputedly how Ballswidths signed his work. The experts conjecture that it was because of his accident." Kuryakin used Solo's hand for leverage to get to his feet.

"Ballswidths is dead, Illya. "

"They never found his body."

"Even so, it's highly unlikely anyone could live out here for ten years."

"Unlikely, but not impossible. No, you're right. It has to be THRUSH, but the scope of that is just mind boggling."

"I think that we need to establish our camp and let Mr. Waverly know what's going on here. I say we secure the main building and hunker down for the night. If we take shifts, we should be okay."

They started to walk back towards the entrance of the camp and Illya suddenly froze.

"Illya, what's wrong."

"Caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Over there, in that cabin, just a flicker in the widow." He jerked his head and slipped his P-38 out of its holster. "I'm going to go check it out. "

"I'll cover you, just be careful.

Kuryakin crept into the shadow-filled room, a creaking floorboard bringing him sharply to attention just as a faint rustle made him turned his head. Suddenly a dusty blanket was tossed over him and a blow knocked the gun from his hand. He went down as a weight caught him across his lower back and someone hammered into him.

Adrenaline brought him up to his knees and then to his feet as he shook the weight off and clawed his way free of the blanket. The light in the cabin was dim, but there was enough for him to see a young woman pointing a gun - his own gun - at him. Illya took the moment to catch his breath and assess the situation as a second woman, in fact, her double, joined her. He blinked a few times to make sure there were really two of them.

"You stay right there, you…you murderer," she stammered, using both hands to steady the weapon. "Giselle, are you okay?"

"So much for all those judo lessons I took. Is he the one?"

"No,'" Illya said, softly, in as calming a voice as he could muster between coughs. The dust was making breathing almost impossible for him. "I'm not what you think I am. You're making a mistake." He surrendered to a bout of coughing.

"No, you're the one making the mistake, mister. You shouldn't have killed all those innocent people. Monique, you should come and stand over here away from him…just in case he tries something."

"That wasn't me, my name is Illya Kuryakin. I'm a journalist for _New York Life_. I'm here with my photographer. Here, I can prove it." He started to reach into his shirt pocket for his ID, but stopped as the gun jerked threateningly.

"Don't bother. You just stand still. I know how to use this."

"Then let me tell you that it's set on automatic. If you depress that trigger, it's going to unload its entire clip into whatever at which you happen to be pointing it. I would prefer that not be me. I don't want you to commit murder due to misinformation." He paused as he heard Solo called his name, softly. "Napoleon, could I see you a moment? I have two charming young ladies with me who seem to be intent upon perforating me. You've always had a winning way with the ladies, perhaps you could talk some sense into them?"

"Forget it!" Monique demanded. "I know how this one works. We're supposed to think that you've got a partner and when we look, you take the gun from me. Giselle, you look and I'll point."

"Oh Jeez, thanks loads, Sis, and if there is someone else, what am I supposed to do?"

"Well, not panic, for a start," Solo said and the two spun in his direction. Before either could take a breath, Illya had recaptured his weapon and slid the safety on. "Now what have we here?"

The two young women clung to each other, sobbing. "Please don't hurt us," one begged as the other pleaded, "if you're going to kill us, don't torture us like you did them."

"No one going to be killing or torturing anyone," Napoleon said, as he holstered his own weapon. "Illya, my boy, it looks like we have survivors."

"I thank you from the pit of my stomach…or rather for it." Illya turned to the two women. "Now, who exactly are you and what are you doing here?'

The two chestnut heads converged as they talked softly. Finally, one of the two offered her hand, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Monique DuPar, this is my sister Giselle. We were part of the group on the other side of the camp. You know, the ones who got…."

"We know. We saw." Solo spoke as gently as he could, trying to both calm and reassure them. "But why are you here?"

"We're each doing our research papers. We're graduating from U –DUB – the University of Washington this spring," she added parenthetically. "We're hoping, me with a degree in criminology if I ever get the stupid thing written. She's writing one about bugs. We came here with our aunt and uncle to do research. We tried to warn them about this place and about all the things that have happened here, but they wouldn't listen to us. They thought if they came, they could provide the spiritual strength that Ballswidths' soul needed to cross over and find peace. Anyhow, we thought it might give us a bit more research material, so we came along and then she found the tunnels and then that happened." Giselle abruptly broke off and glanced from one man to the other. "I'm talking too much, aren't I? Sorry, I'm just still a little scared that one of you might pull a knife or something and try to kill us…I'm doing it again…I'm sorry."

"Does she ever come up for air?" Illya asked and the second girl giggled, nervously.

"Not that I know of and I've known her all her life. But she's right, we are still pretty scared of you."

"Are you the photographer?" Giselle looked over at Solo.

"Who told you I was a photographer?"

"He did. What did you say your name was? I know it was something Italian."

"You're off by a few thousand miles," Illya said, smiling. "It's Illya Kuryakin and I'm Russian, not Italian."

"I don't want to sound morbid or anything, but did you take pictures…of back there?"

"Why would I do that?" Napoleon shifted his attention to outside. The rising moon had bathed the camp in a watery blue glow and he kept thinking he saw dark shapes dancing just on the fringes of his peripheral vision.

"It's your job?" Monique exchanged a 'duh?' look with her sister. "You've just seen Ballswidths' work first hand; I would have thought it was obvious."

"I think we need to get these young ladies out of here and back into town, Illya." Solo reached for the closet elbow, propelling Monique towards the door.

"Wait a minute, who do you think you are?"

"A few minutes ago, I was a suspected killer and now I'm your way out of here. Wait, there are three vehicles outside, why didn't you just leave?"

"All the car keys are in there…with them…I couldn't…"

"She has a point, Napoleon. I'll hot wire a vehicle for them." Illya led the way back toward the Jeeps. "So, tell me how you both managed to escape this murderer,"

"We didn't, not exactly." Monique gave him a half smile. "I was crawling around underneath one of the cabins and discovered this abandoned tunnel. It's not strange to have them here, what with the mining that was done in the area. I guess there must have been some sort of tunneling effort made and when they worked a vein out, they boarded it up and somebody built a camp on top of it. At least that's my theory. We were exploring the tunnels and had decided that it was time to head back and that's when we heard stuff and saw all the blood. I grabbed Giselle and we took off, hid in one of the side tunnels for awhile until she got tired of trail mix." Monique pointed at her sister. "We were going to try and walk out when we saw you creeping around and thought the worst.

"Lucky it was me and not someone else." Illya glanced over at Solo. "Now I think Napoleon is correct and that you need to both be on your way. We need someone to alert the authorities."

"You're not going to stay here?" Giselle asked incredulously

"We have guns and each other, such as it is," Napoleon said with a smile. "However, I would feel better knowing that you two are safe and that help is on the way." As they moved towards the Jeeps, Napoleon kept his flashlight moving, casting an eerie glow on bushes and cabins to either side of them. "You mentioned this tunnel; before you leave can you show us where it is? Just in case we need to lay low for a time."

"I'm sure Ballswidths used those tunnels to hide out in until the heat blew over and then made good his escape. I don't know where he went, but I sure know he was there." Monique pulled down the sleeves of her sweatshirt as the day's heat dissipated.

"Or someone was because we found stuff…" Giselle said.

"You mean like trash?" Solo asked.

"Well, that, too. I was talking more about…other stuff." The girl looked from one man to the other. "You know, human…by products."

"Got it."

Monique pointed over her shoulder at the closest cabin. "It's easy to find the tunnels. There seems to be an exit beneath most of the cabins. Personally, I think that's how Ballswidths was able to kill so many people. He just popped up, slaughtered whoever was in the cabin and then moved on to the next one."

Napoleon exchanged an uneasy look with his partner and he reached out for Monique's elbow. "Now I want you two to climb in, lock the doors and don't stop until you get to town. Send back the authorities, but under no circumstance come back yourselves. It's far too dangerous here."

"But what about you?" Monique asked. "I don't like the idea of leaving you guys out here."

"You don't have to worry about us." Illya slowed as he approached the vehicle and held up a cautionary hand. "Stop here, please." He swung Monique behind him.

"What's wrong?"

"I am not an imaginative man, or so I have been told, but I swear I saw something move in that Jeep." Something suddenly flashed in the vehicle as Napoleon played his light over it. A dark figure stared back, jumping as the light startled him. Both girls screamed as it started to grope its way out, waving a rather substantial knife in one hand.

"I think we've outstayed our welcome," Solo said, drawing his weapon smoothly. As had his partner, he tucked a sister behind him, shielding her. "Where did you say that hidey hole of yours was?"

Giselle grabbed Solo's hand and started to run, but the figure abruptly blocked Illya and Monique's path. Illya gave her an encouraging push in Solo's direction. "I'm going to lead him off. When I do, follow Napoleon and your sister."

"What if he follows me?" Her fingers dug into his bicep and Illya winced. "Worse, what if he follows you?" He shook her hand free.

"Forget about me, just do as I say." He shoved her away, pulling his weapon from its holster and burying a bullet at the feet of the man, who jumped back and growled some half unintelligible curse. "Hey, ugly, I'm over here. Come on! Let's dance." The figure lurched in his direction and Illya moved away a few steps, making sure that he was being the sole focus of attention. As soon as he was certain that Monique was on her way and the chase was on, Illya took off, sprinting towards to outer most cabins away from his partner.

It was easy to stay ahead of his pursuer, who seemed to lumber rather than run. Illya ducked around the corner of a cabin, leapt into the air and quietly hoisted himself onto the roof. Concentrating on controlling both his breathing and his cough, Illya froze as he heard the shuffling gait of the man. There was a brief pause and then the footsteps resumed heading toward the nearby woods. That would have been a logical assumption to make had he been after prey. The trees would offer cover and a way to elude someone.

Cautiously, Illya slid to the roof edge and watched the figure approach and disappear into the low brush. Only then did he drop silently to the ground, intent upon rendezvousing with his partner. His feet contacted solid ground, then the earth gave way and he was treading air. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed for something, but there was nothing to hold on to save some dry grass. He pitched downward to land dazed on a hard surface. He attempted to rise, but a plummeting clump of dirt hit him square on the back of his head, knocking him to the floor.

Had he remained conscious a moment longer, he would have seen a shape stare down at him, huff once and disappear back into the night.

CHAPTER 3

Napoleon Solo held each girl close to him. At another time, he'd have made a joke about being a satisfied sandwich filling, but right now was not the time for levity and the comment was equally inappropriate, given their ages. At the same time, Solo was desperate to lighten the mood, lest total panic ensue.

Monique had managed to find them heading toward the main cabin without much difficultly, but the Russian's continued absence was wearing on his nerves. With the twins' guidance, they'd managed to slip into the darkness of the tunnels. For the moment, he kept the flashlight turned off. He felt Giselle, he thought, stifle a sob.

"Shhh, Giselle," he murmured, stroking her head gently, like he would that of a child's. "You're all right. We're fine down here. No one even knows we're here"

"I'm Giselle," protested a voice from the opposite direction and he smiled an invisible apology. "Sorry, can't tell the two of you apart, even when I can see you."

"I'm not worried about me," Monique said, rubbing at her eyes with a grimy sleeve. "I'm worried about Illya. He's still up there with that guy and that knife looked pretty dangerous."

"Don't worry about him. He's harder to kill than he looks. Believe me, he's had plenty of experience eluding bad guys."

"What are you?" Giselle asked suddenly. "And why do you have guns? And why don't you have a camera and why isn't Illya writing anything down? Neither of you are the least bit interested in what's going on up there. If you were, you wouldn't be down here with us. You'd be up there with him."

Solo shifted his position and flipped on the flashlight, so he could look at both of them at once. "I do suppose we owe you a bit of an explanation. Illya and I are sort of…glorified police officers, you could say. We were sent to investigate some recent strange happenings here."

"Well, you're certainly getting a first-hand account of it, aren't you? Why didn't you just tell us that in the first place? I don't see any reason for this cloak and dagger stuff…sorry, that's probably the wrong word to use right now, isn't it?"

"Because, my dear, the people we are investigating are responsible for the deaths of your relatives and all those other innocent people. They are blood-thirsty killers, obviously, and the less you know about them, the safer it is for you both."

"Then that's not Ballswidths up there with Illya?"

"No, I'm afraid it's someone much more dangerous."

"Terrific, that makes me feel so much better." Monique shrugged off Solo's hand and leaned back against the dirt wall. It gave gave way and she toppled backward.

"Monique!" Giselle was at her sister's side before Solo could even register movement.

"Well, I'll be damned. There's another set of tunnels," Monique said, tilting her head backward to look over her head. She spit out some dirt as it tumbled onto her face, but otherwise seemed disinclined to move. Unlike previous tunnel, which was dark and dank, this new one was dimly lit with emergency lights.

"I think you just found what we were looking for." Solo helped her sit up. "And all the answers I want are probably at the end of that tunnel."

"So let's go!" Monique jumped to her feet and brushed dirt off her jeans and sweatshirt.

"But what about Illya?" Giselle glanced back over her shoulder anxiously. "We can't just go running off and leave him."

"Sadly, my mission lies in that direction." Napoleon indicated the new tunnel with a nod of his head. "I'm afraid Illya is on his own for awhile. I want you two to stay here. I'll be back shortly."

"Not on your life, mister!" Monique shook dirt from her hair. "I found this tunnel and who knows what sort of new bugs it might be hiding. You might have bad guys to catch, but I have a thesis to write. This is excellent research. Besides, with Illya not here, you need someone to watch your back. I know judo and Giselle knows karate. We can help." She glanced over at her sister, who was shaking her head fervently.

"I'm staying here."

"You do what you want, but I'm going." Monique stepped through the hole and into the new tunnel. Solo was just a few feet behind her. Abruptly Giselle launched herself to her feet and hurried after them.

"You decide to join us chickens rather than be brave back there all by yourself?" her sister teased gently.

"I'm brave, but I'm careful." Giselle grabbed her sister's hand and held on tightly.

****

Illya Kuryakin gradually became aware of a light being flashed first in one eye and then the other. He pushed the hand away and tried to sit up. A faint voice made its way to him.

"He's awake; you better let the boss man know. He'll want to head the interrogation."

_Oh, good interrogation, I must have found the bad guys-_ Illya thought as the voice faded. He listened to his own breathing for a moment before braving the unassisted opening of an eye. He stared up at an unfinished dirt ceiling and then lifted his head as much as he could to glance around the room and at the thick cords binding his body to the squat bench-like table. _Yup, obviously found them._

The sound of footsteps, muffled by the dirt floor drew his attention to the framed entrance of the room. He stared at the feet as they stopped and followed them up, flinching involuntarily when he came to the face.

"Hello, Dietrick," he managed after a moment.

The tall, pale-complexioned man stood before him, a shock of bright red hair giving his face its only splash of color. He smiled a feral grin at the Russian, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with malicious intent.

"Why, Mr. Kuryakin, what a pleasure it is to run into you here. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all world, you walk into mine. We weren't expecting company, but it was nice of you to drop in. I do hope this encounter will be of a more permanent nature than the last time. The German walked stiffly about the table, still grinning. "We have much to discuss, you and I."

"I can't think of a thing to talk about," Illya said, matter-of-factl. The German moved forward quickly and backhanded the UNCLE agent. Illya's head snapped with the force of the blow and for a moment, he lingered upon the brink of unconsciousness, teetered and slid back down the other side. He could feel blood trickle from a split lip and gave the German a slight smile. "Not bad for a dead man."

"You UNCLE agents are always quick to jump to conclusions, especially the easy ones. Granted, that little affair at the winery put me in a dim light with my superiors. They decided to give me another chance any way. And who should show up as the crowning glory of my success? Why the very man responsible for my last failure. It will be a treat to hand over one of UNCLE top agents."

"Don't count your roosters before the fox has left the hen house, Dietrick. I'm not alone." Illya realized just how pitiful his threat sounded.

"You never are, my little friend. Then I shall hand over two UNCLE agents instead. Do you want to tell me where Solo is or shall I force it out of you…please, let me force it out of you."

"To be honest, and just between us, that's a question I would like very much answered as well," Illya said, sucking the blood off his bottom lip. "He seems to have left me…here…alone and run off with a couple of women."

"The dauntless Mr. Solo has taken flight without you, Mr. Kuryakin? What a brave UNCLE agent he's proven to be. Was our little friend up top too much for him to handle? He really is good, isn't he? He loves to throw himself into his work. " Dietrick hitched a hip up against the table, brushing against the UNCLE agent and smiled as the man shifted away from him. "What a shameless act of cowardice." Dietrick examined his fingernails. "So, how did you know we were here?"

"Found a clipping on one of your dead compatriots in the Arctic Circle."

"Ah, so that was you. You know, I tell my co-workers that they need to be careful with your lot. I tell them to clean out their pockets, leave the incriminating stuff at home, but they will not listen to me." He leaned forward and ran his long fingers through Kuryakin's blond hair, then clenched them to pull the agent's head off the table. "You're doing very well so far. What put you on to the thallium?"

"Napoleon found a sample in Tahiti."

"And here I thought it was the other way around; you're usually the one responsible for blowing things up."

"Napoleon doesn't like the cold." Dietrick released his hair and Illya's head fell back with a clunk. Stars swam in front of his eyes for a moment and Illya fought to keep conscious as Dietrick shook blond strands from his fingers. "Okay, my turn now. What are you playing at here?"

"Since you aren't going anywhere, this time, I'll fill in some of the gaps. As you might recall, our inimitable Mr. Ballswidths had some difficulty in perfecting his laser. The chemical he was using to boost the amplification was far too unstable. But in his defense, thallium wasn't widely available at that time or ready for practical application. We were excavating the remaining ore from this mine and stumbled onto the old man's work area and notes. Apparently he'd been hiding out here before taking off for parts unknown. We just picked up where he left off."

"And then you brought Ballswidths and his reputation back from the dead to keep the unwitting away?"

"Until that damned religious sect descended, praise the lord and pass the ammunition." Dietrick rose and paced the room. "It was getting to the point of where we couldn't hear ourselves think. There were more people up there than down here. Some of the tunnels were even in danger of collapse. You can imagine how the men felt."

"My heart bleeds for them."

"Oh much more than your heart will be bleeding by the time we're finished, Mr. Kuryakin."

"So you put on that little show up there for our benefit – all those people?" Illya paused and then sighed. "That would be your idea of fun and games. Dietrick, listen, Waverly knows you're here. He's waiting for us to report in. We don't and he'll send more agents. Napoleon and I might die, but you will be stopped."

Dietrick started to laugh and the mere sound of it made Illya's hair stand on end. "Oh, I suspect Mr. Waverly will be far too busy in a little while to worry about such things. By the time he realizes you're dead, we will already be focused upon our first target, the Kremlin."

"The Kremlin?" That caught rapt attention. "But surely you know the results? You fire upon the Kremlin and that would result in immediate retaliation upon the United States."

"Exactly, we are about to initiate World War III. _Auf weidersrhen_, Comrade Kuryakin." Dietrick jauntily saluted the man and strode from the room, pausing at the doorway. He snapped his fingers to the approaching guards. "I want guards in here and guards out there and then guards on them. Under no circumstance are you to take your eyes off him for an instant. Also have them fire up the laser. We'll give Mr. Kuryakin a first-hand experience of the new laser's capability."

"You don't think you'll make him talk, do you."

"No, but I'll wager I can make him scream. I am going to enjoy this immeasurably."

****

Napoleon Solo crept carefully through the main shaft, closely followed the by two sisters.

"Maybe this wasn't such as good idea," Giselle said. "I think we're lost."

"Well, as my dear Aunt Amy always says, if you're going to be lost, it might as well be among friends," Solo murmured. They came to an abrupt halt as to the dirt of the tunnel was added more permanent, newer beams of wood and steel. A pair of steel doors blocked off the tunnel, preventing them from going any further.

"Back to Square One," Monique groaned, planting her hands up her hips.

"Not exactly," Solo said. "This might actually be a very good sign." He dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his communicator. "Open Channel D please."

"Channel D is open, Mr. Solo. Do you have some news for us?" Waverly's gravelly voice was hopeful. "I was becoming concerned that the lack of word from you or Mr. Kuryakin foretold grave news."

"Well, I'm not so sure about Mr. Kuryakin, sir - we became separated. However, I can positively confirm THRUSH activity. They've left their usual calling cards all over the place."

"Bodies, Mr. Solo?"

"Yes, sir, and a lot of them. There was a group of campers here prior to our arrival. They murdered the lot of them with the exception of two survivors. I have them with me now for safe keeping."

"Very good, Mr. Solo, keep us abreast of any new developments. And don't be down hearted about Mr. Kuryakin. You have thought him gone before and been quite wrong."

"Yes, sir. Solo out." He slid the communicator back away and gestured. "Shall we, ladies?"

"Shall we what? Seems to me there a pretty substantial door between us and the other side," Giselle said, gesturing.

Napoleon studied the spot for a long moment before noticing the low blue beam that hugged the floor. You almost had to know it was there to see it. He walked up to the door, breaking the beam. Smoothly, the slabs of metal split, exposing the inner compound that THRUSH had carved out of the mine shaft. He paused, waiting, frowning at the lack of alarms. "That's really lax of them. They must have really not expected to be discovered. "Are you coming or would you rather wait for me out here?"

"Are you crazy?" Monique was through the door before he could finish the question. "There is no way I'm staying on the other side of any door down here. I may not know much, but it's gotta be better than whatever we've left."

The change was dramatic as they stepped across the threshold. The dirt floor gave way to tile and the dirt walls to cement. As soon as they cleared the doorway, the steel doors slid back into place.

"What is this place, Napoleon?" Giselle asked, staying well behind the man. "It smells kinds new in here, not all moldy like back there."

"Quite probably very new," he admitted. At the sound of other voices, Solo pulled them back against the wall and made them as small a target as possible.

"Also have them fire up the laser. We'll give Mr. Kuryakin a first-hand experience of the new laser's capability." Napoleon shut his eyes at the all-too-familiar voice.

"You don't think you'll make him talk, do you?"

"No, but I'll wager I can make him scream. I am going to enjoy this immeasurably."

The words were of small comfort to the American agent. It meant that Illya was still alive, although for how much longer was anyone's guess, and where he was being held was still up in the air. Napoleon held his breath as Dietrick turned his way and then paused and looked back at the guard.

"Do watch him carefully, won't you? Otherwise, the laser might have another target instead." Dietrick walked off in the opposite direction.

"Otherwise the laser might have another target…" mocked the guard softly. "Ass." He flipped the German off and started to walk away. "Stupid little UNCLE agent…"

Whatever thoughts he might have had after that would never be realized as he sunk to the floor, unconscious. Napoleon dragged him down the corridor. When the girls saw him round a corner, they both jumped to help drag him back into the older section of the tunnel. Immediately, he started to strip off his shirt and tee shirt.

"You girls sit tight here until I find out what's going on." He started to unzip his pants and stopped at twin blushes, then realized they'd probably never even seen a man in his underwear before. "Sorry," he apologized, but continued the clothes exchange. "I'm going to try to find Illya and put a stop to whatever is going on in there." He pulled on the gray jumpsuit and tugged the beret over his head, the brim concealing his upper face in shadows. "Stay hidden in the shadows and I'll signal you when it's clear."

"What should we do with him if he wakes up?" Giselle indicated the half naked man.

"Do what comes naturally, I guess – tell him another bedtime story, but quietly. I'll be back, soon, I hope."

Solo affected an air of confidence as he strolled back down the corridor. It wouldn't do to have an ill-at-ease guard. He turned the corner and spotted an opening leading off the main corridor.

"Might as well take in the sights while I'm here," he murmured to himself. He walked into the room and the guard snapped to attention. Solo grinned and waved him down as he spotted a familiar form strapped to a table. His unerring Solo luck had proved true once more, but what to do with the rather large, burly guard whose hand was drifting closer to the butt of his rifle?

CHAPTER FOUR

Illya Kuryakin dropped his head carefully back against the hard surface of the table, coughed and thought furiously. _Not the easiest thing to do with post nasal drip, _he decided. Of course, he could just lie here and do nothing since he was scheduled to be taken to the laser. He might have an opportunity for sabotage if he could manage an escape before being killed. It wasn't exactly the outcome he was hoping for when he got up that morning, however. He tugged at his bonds, bringing his guard to an uneasy attention. Illya smiled disarmingly at the man and relaxed. It was no use wasting effort now when he might need that energy later. He gave in to the luxury of a cough and sneeze before closing his eyes. He didn't even bother opening them as he heard someone enter. If it was for him, he'd know soon enough.

"I'm relieving you." The voice, although hoarse, sounded strangely familiar and Illya cracked an eye open.

"What for? I'm not due for another hour."

"Dietrick wants fresh eyes on this sleaze bag." Illya arched an eyebrow, but refrained from comment. "He's worried that he'll escape."

"Tied up like a side of beef? Not likely. Besides, he'd already tried and given up. That German gives me one giant pain in my ass," the guard grumbled and then his eyes narrowed at the new arrival. One wrong word to their boss and things could get very uncomfortable.

"Don't worry, I won't say anything. He rides mine too. I just wish he'd make up his mind." Solo pointed to his partner. "That little shit has made him crazy more than once and he can't wait to even the score."

"Yea, well, just don't take your eyes off of him. Dietrick says he's slippery." The guard handed over his rifle.

"You got it." Solo waited for the door to close behind the man before smiling in the direction of his partner. "Now why does this look familiar?"

"Mousing again, Napoleon?"

"If you weren't so good at getting caught, I wouldn't have to spend so much of my valuable time saving you." He patted a pocket and withdrew a jackknife

"Seems to me it's usually the other way around. Your humbleness is only out-weighed by your own self worth," Illya muttered as the blade slipped easily through the hemp strands "By the way, sleaze bag? Little shit? At least I know how I rate in your eyes."

"Only when THRUSH is listening, my friend. When it's just us, I cherish you."

"Nice. I take it from your earlier comment, you've run into Dietrick?"

"He nearly ran into me, but changed his mind at the last moment. That's the way I prefer it." He finished cutting through the last bit of rope holding the Russian and helped him into a sitting position.

"Don't get me wrong or anything, Napoleon, but why didn't you go after the laser instead?"

"Found you first and besides, you're the one with all the technical skills remember? I'm just the good looks and charm. Now, you are our way into the lab." Napoleon took a step towards the door way, but the Russian remained seated.

"Napoleon, he's planning on starting World War III. He's going to blow up the Kremlin." He caught Solo's arm. "If it's a case of it or me…"

"I know, likewise. So which way?"

"Left?"

"Nothing that way except two steel doors, a couple of scared girls and an unconscious THRUSH."

"Girls?" Kuryakin's tone was chastising. "This is no place for them, Napoleon."

"They're safer down here than up there with that assassin running around." Solo position himself behind Kuryakin and pointed to the right. "Let's go, prisoner."

After a few wrong turns, the two men from UNCLE approached the door that signaled the end of their search. A small cardboard sign proclaimed in five different languages that this was Lab A. Hesitant, Solo entered, shoving Kuryakin before him and two lab techs looked up at the intrusion.

"What's the meaning of this, guard?"

"This is the prisoner Dietrick was talking about as your next test subject."

"It's not bad enough we have to slice up animals, now he wants us to use it on people?"

"That surprises you?" asked the other tech, returning to his paperwork.

"Nothing surprises me anymore. Not when it comes to him."

"How else are we to find out whether it is effective enough for the Hierarchy's purpose?" Solo snapped, hoping to sound outrageous enough to fit into the role of a committed THRUSH agent. "I suggest that you remember your primary purpose here, gentlemen."

"Yes, yes, of course, whatever, let's get it over with." The scientist pointed to a scarred and blood-stained table. "Strap him down there. "Make sure they are very tight. Once the laser starts to cut, he will find strength he didn't know he had in an effort to escape."

Illya flashed Solo a look of mingled concern and trust as his partner did as he was bid and fit the broad straps into place. Solo caught the look and nodded back, all the while keeping up a stream an idle chatter. Using his body as a shield, he slipped the knife into Kuryakin's hand and the man palmed it.

"All right, guard, you can leave us." The first tech brushed him aside, checking the straps himself. "You call these tight? Put some back into it, man." The chest strap was tightened until Illya could barely draw a breath. "Don't worry." The tech patted his shoulder. "In a few minutes, it won't matter." He turned back to Solo. "Go now, unless, of course, you're the type of man who likes to listen to the screams of another."

"Are you sure you can handle him?"

"The straps only need to hold until the first strike. He'll be in too much pain after that."

"That's reassuring," Illya muttered. "Just out of curiosity, why? I thought lasers were supposed to be relatively painless."

"To be honest, we're not really sure. It may have something to do with the thallium," the second tech shrugged his shoulders. "If it's any consolation, you'll be rendered unconscious fairly quickly."

"How much is Dietrick paying you?"

"What makes you think we're any less prisoners than you are?" snapped the first man as he began to punch information into a keyboard. He exchanged a furious glare with his fellow tech and returned to his controls.

Solo used the time to study the lab, but nothing looked anything like what he had expected a laser to resemble. Sitting on a table was a small 'u' shaped rod, bent around an ordinarily light bulb. Wires dangled from the rod, making it look more like a stethoscope than anything else. The wires fed into a small clear plastic looking tube, which narrowed at one end and was supported on a small swivel stand. "Tell me that's not this great laser he's been going on about."

"Not much to look at is it? Still it'll cut a man to ribbons before his heart even knows what's happening or remove his head before the brain can register it. This is just a model of course, but the prototype can generate 20 times more power than that of the largest laser currently in operation. It can punch a hole through Everest in two minutes and level the entire mountain in four…possibly five, we're not quite sure about that yet. And you can hold it while it's doing its dirty work. Completely safe for the handler, something that poor old Ballswidths would have appreciated."

"Govno," Illya swore, swallowing.

"You can say that again - now, guard, if you don't mind, we have our work to do."

"Yeah, right…" Napoleon started to retreat, glancing over at the nearby table. A beaker on it bore the letter 'HCL' and Solo knew that signified hydrochloric acid.

"All right, Mr. UNCLE agent. Let's start with your feet shall we? Cut them off at the knees or ankles?"

"How about not at all?"

"Not an option, sorry."

Napoleon grabbed the beaker and sent it skidding across the floor and into a leg of Illya's table. It exploded from the impact, sending a fine spray of acid out over the nearest lab tech. The man screamed and started to tear at his clothes and body. The second tech went for his gun, but Solo beat him, unloading two shots into the man's chest.

Careful to avoid the puddles of acid, Solo raced to Kuryakin's side and unstrapped him. "I think we've out-stayed out welcome," Solo murmured as he helped his partner off the table. They started to exit, but the first lab tech, skin blistered and peeling from the assault, grabbed the laser and swung it in their direction. Illya grabbed Solo and brought him to the floor as the beam cut across the doorway, neatly slicing two incoming THRUSH guard neatly in half.

"A_iye moran_," Solo swore and got to his feet. Illya wasn't as fast this and caught the beam across a recently healed shoulder blade. The resulting scream was like nothing Solo had ever heard before. Illya was on the ground writhing in pain practically before the beam even touched him. Solo brought his gun up and shot the tech between the eyes. He fell, taking the beam with him and it began to cut through the ceiling of the lab, causing dirt and concrete to rain down

The beam continued to bounce, cutting through anything the light fell on. Solo jumped up and grabbed the tube directing it first towards a bank of computers and then at its own power source. The explosion threw him to the ground, but he rolled and came up, crawling to where Illya groaned and huddled in pain.

"Illya, this whole place is coming down. We have to move."

"I don't think I can." The whisper was hoarse, raw.

"Not an option, sorry," He dragged the man to his feet and half carried him to a door. A sudden wall of people rushing by sent him back into the lab. "Wait a minute, they're headed in the wrong direction. The tunnels must be collapsing."

"Napoleon, I can't travel," Illya was back on his knees doubled over. "You have to get the girls and get out."

"I can't."

"You have to, Napoleon. Please…"

"I'm coming back for you," Solo said, standing. "I promise."

"I'll hold you to it."

Solo pushed past the crowd of people all bent on escaping from the tunnels before it was too late. He stopped before the steel doors, now bent and partially crushed by the sheer weight of the ground above them.

"Giselle? Monique?" He stopped and fanned a hand in front of his face, trying to clear the air of the dust.

"Here, we're here." A familiar call came from his side of the doors and the girls pulled free of the shadows. They both rushed up, obviously delighted to see him.

"Where's Illya?" Giselle or was it Monique demanded.

"We have to get out of here." Solo gave the closest girl a shove back into the dirt tunnel before the doors could collapse completely.

"Where's Illya?"

"Not coming."

"What?"

"It was a choice between him or you and you're both here only because of me. My duty is to you. Illya knows that."

"Where is he? Back down that way?" Monique pointed. The dirt and stones seemed to have eased off and Solo nodded briefly, pulling them in the opposite direction. She broke free and started to run back into the THRUSH strong hold.

"What the…? You can't get out that way," he yelled. "The tunnel is collapsing behind me. The best thing we can do is to get out, go around to another entrance and try that way." He grabbed Giselle's hand and offered his free one to Monique. "I have no intention of leaving him behind here." He gestured again. "Come on! You're wasting time and he doesn't have a lot left!"

Monique glanced back towards the rubble and then retreated. "Okay, then let's move!"

Stumbling through the dark, they made their way back through the tunnels. Giselle stopped at the base of a ladder and pointed to it. "This is it. This should lead us back into the main dining hall."

"Okay, you're first." Napoleon put a hand upon either hip and gave her a boost up the ladder. A low rumbling told him that collapse was imminent. The reality of life was that it was too late to help his partner. Still, he had to try.

"I'm through," Giselle yelled down and Solo maneuvered Monique into position.

"Okay, up you go." He waited until she was nearly to the top and then headed up himself, anxious to be back above ground if only for a few moments.

His head had just cleared the hole when his jacket was grabbed and he was hauled from the hole by it. It took him a moment to register that it was the assassin that THRUSH had left wandering about top side and he viciously slammed his elbows back in his assailant's midriff. The attacker swung him around tossing him into the two girls, who were already collapsed in a pile of arms and legs. Solo pushed clear and launched himself at the attacker. The figure grabbed Solo's hand and forced the fingers backwards, using Solo's own impetus to pop the fingers out of joint. Solo's cry of agony broke the night air, only to be strangled off as the assassin grabbed his throat was grabbed and began to choke him.

He gasped at air like a fish out of water, helpless, suddenly falling to the ground as a gunshot blasted through the night and he was released.

He managed to get to his knees and looked in the direction of the shot. Monique, her mouth a perfect 'o', still held the THRUSH rifle in her hands.

"I just meant to scare him," she said, suddenly dropping the weapon and stepping away from it. She stared at the fallen body as her sister moved to Napoleon's side.

"No complaints from me," Solo whispered. He coughed, raising his good hand to his throat to massage it.

"Your poor hand – your fingers are all funny." Napoleon knew that popping his fingers back into joint wouldn't be fun, but that the relief would be well worth the discomfort.

The girls watched with a mixture of fascination and revulsion as he, gasping, manipulated each finger back into place. That accomplished, Giselle wrapped a length of cloth around the hand, binding it against further injury.

"We need to get back down in that tunnel," he murmured, taking a sip of water Monique had pulled from a backpack and trying to convince his conscience that his partner was still alive. He stood up and swayed precariously until each girl slid up under an arm to support him. Slowly, the trio walked from the main building into the night.

****

It had taken every bit of strength he possessed, but Illya had finally made it to his feet and even managed to take a staggering step. The pain was starting to ease now, but it left him light-headed in its wake.

"I should have known." Dietrick's voice stopped him and Illya managed to get his head up to stare at the German's chest. "The minute the alarm went up, I should have known."

Illya didn't even care to verbally spar with the man. He simply didn't have the strength to spare. He pushed himself along the wall away from Dietrick.

"So you had a little demonstration of our laser first hand," Dietrick said, chuckling harshly. "Packs quite a punch doesn't it?' The German brought his fist up into Illya's stomach, knocking the wind from him, but Illya's sensory-overloaded brain didn't even bother to register the blow. He merely grunted and struggled to take the next faltering step, partially sliding down before his legs came back to life. "Feeling a little shaky?" Dietrick let him advance a few more feet before gently tapping him behind the knees.

Illya collapsed back down to the ground, groaning as his back slid along the wall, leaving a trail of blood behind. He glared at Dietrick and the man pulled a gun free of its holster.

"And now, Mr. Kuryakin, this is where we part company. Say good night, Grac…" Dietrick's voice caught in his throat and he spun, clawing at the knife in his back. Illya's vision was red-tinged, hazy, and he squinted, trying to focus on the figure behind Dietrick.

"Napoleon," he started to choke out. The figure ignored him, yanking the knife free from Dietrick and shoving the man aside. Illya's head fell forward, too heavy for his neck. He was too close to passing out now to even make an attempt as his head was tilled back. Breath was soft upon his face and his head was gently lowered back down.

A wave of pain ran through him as he was lifted and thrown over one shoulder. _Not Napoleon, he isn't strong enough to do this, not like this, _Illya thought_._ The person carrying him was actually jogging, causing Illya's breath to come in fast little grunts.

There was a sense of falling and suddenly he was lying face down on grass. It took a long moment for him to garner enough strength to get his hands and knees beneath him. He was out of the tunnels, but not sure why or even exactly how. In fact, the Jeeps stood just a few tantalizing yards away from him

There was a noise and he saw Napoleon stumbling through the door of the meeting hall, half supported by two shapes he could only guess were the twin sisters. Concern got him up on his feet and he staggered a step, then two towards them.

Solo thought he was dreaming when he saw the shape hobbling towards him. He stopped and stared, blinking, not trusting his eyes.

"Illya?" he whispered and the girls followed his gaze. "I don't believe it."

They lurched towards each other finally meeting after what seemed forever.

"What happened?" Solo asked, studying the Russian. It was obvious he was theworse for wear, but still alive. "How did you get out of the installation?"

"Napoleon, Dietrick is dead, I saw him stabbed…by the same guy who carried me out."

"Who?"

"No idea. I'm having a hard time focusing. What about you?"

"Someone tried to throttle me. Monique managed to convince him otherwise."

Giselle went around to check Illya's back and grimaced.

"Ewww."

"Is that your official diagnosis?" Illya murmured. "We need to get a car started, Napoleon. I'm not going to be with you much longer."

A bullet sped past his nose and he went to the ground, not the hardest of feats for him at the moment. Propping himself up on his elbows, he saw a man stand, leaned up against the side of the door, readying his rifle for another shot. Napoleon would have an opportunity to take cover, but the Russian was pinned. Watching death come was all he could do.

The rifle came up and suddenly the man was lifted into the air, screaming and twitching as the figure behind him started to cut.

A Jeep roared to life behind him and Illya found himself being roughhoused into a bench seat. A solid jolt as the wheel hit a pot hole and the Russian's world went dark.

EPILOGUE

Napoleon Solo, hand encased in a cast, poked his head into the hospital room and grinned over at his partner. One UNCLE medical suite looked very much like another when you were restricted to lying upon your stomach.

"How are you feeling?" Napoleon glanced over at the various bottles and tubes that ran connected to parts of his partner.

"Wonderful, never better, I'm thinking of making a career of this, just lying and staring at the wall."

"Mmm, they must have taken you off the morphine. " Napoleon set a paper sack down upon a nearby chair.

"Last night, after I started itching."

"That's right, I'd forgotten about that."

"I wish I could. They never seem to check my records before administering it, only afterwards." Illya shifted, grimacing, as he rearranged a pillow. "Did you get the girls to their plane in time?"

"Yup, just half an hour ago. They are on their way back to sunny Washington state."

"I'd heard just the opposite - the sun never shines there."

"I don't think either of them cares at the moment. They were just ready to put this behind them."

"As would I, if only it didn't hurt quite so much."

"You're just lucky it was only a skin graft they had to do. A quarter of an inch deeper and you'd be a paraplegic."

"Not feeling so lucky at the moment," Illya grumbled.

"Well, perhaps the gods are looking kindly upon me for our next bout on the mats. You in that condition, even Waverly could take you."

"Five days, Napoleon, just give me five days and I will make you eat those words." In spite of the threatening words, the man remained quiet. He'd discovered that the only thing worse that moving was coughing. Now he was attempting to do neither.

Napoleon grinned and patted his partner's arm. "By the way, I chatted with your doctor on the way in. Seems that in addition to everything else, you have pneumonia - I told you so."

"That's understandable. We had a clean-up crew go in and take care of Whispering Pines. It was pretty much destroyed by the massive cave in. There was something funny though."

"What was that?"

"When our people were able to get into the tunnels to search for survivors, every body they found was missing its hands and head. It's going to make ID'ing them almost impossible." Napoleon paused, waiting for that particular bit of information to sink in. "And the laser was going…again."

"I thought you blew it up or was I imagining that?"

"I thought I did too."

"THRUSH?"

"I don't know. I can only assume. I mean, besides us, they were the only ones down there…weren't they?"

Illya fell silent for a moment, trying to recall his rescuer. "I wish I could remember more. Everything was so fuzzy and unreal, but someone carried me out of those tunnels and someone killed that THRUSH rifleman."

"Took him apart was more like it. The very detailed description that the clean-up crew made was enough to turn me off of ground beef for life."

"With your waist line, that's not such a bad thing." Illya teased, then fell silent for a moment, frowning at the low grade headache he still had. "Napoleon, Ballswidths is dead, is he not?"

"I don't know, Illya. Two days ago, I would have said 'yes absolutely', but now, I just don't know. Guess it's good for both of us that he liked your face,"

"Both of us?"

"Well, yes, you for the obvious reason and me for that fact that I'd hate to have to break in a new partner after all this time." He somehow managed to get out of the room and avoid the pillow at the same time.


End file.
